


One Sick Puppy

by Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Series: How To Teach An Old Dog New Tricks [18]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Author Chooses Not To Warn, Don't fret!, F/M, Or Is It?, Spoilers, end of series, just surprise, no massive triggers, nothing to terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-06 23:20:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: “You can put your tongue in my ass, but this is gross to you? She grins, pulling her hand back to lick the little drip of coffee from her finger tip. “I know you---.” Tony watches, right along with her, as the blushy pink polish of her right index nail turns a dark, and ominous shade of blue. “Baby,” she says, very, very quietly and Tony’s sure she’s never called him that before, sure it doesn’t mean anything good. Before he can ask, she cuts him off. “Whatever happens - I’ll get you back, okay?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hola! It has been a while. Like. Almost two months. My apologies. Many things. I moved, my assistant took a new position and ABANDONED ME (i'm looking at you lacy), so I had to hire and train new staff, my ex husband has decided to move to Ohio and become a woman (fully support her decision! however, it's a five hour drive and I relied on her help with our kid), it's been wild. 
> 
> On top of that - I just...didn't know where to go from here. And I find that when it gets to this point, an author might need to consider that it's just...time to put a story to bed. So, sadly, this is the End of the Old Dogs series. This will be the last story in the series. It should have a few chapters (I'm not leaving it here!). 
> 
> I will be putting together a new full version (chaptered but one story) and I would LOVE A BETA. 
> 
> That said, it's not over! after much deliberation, I have decided that Darcy's story needs to be told so! Look forward to New Tricks, Darcy's version of events, probably starting a little farther back, and ending a little after this. All from Darcy's POV. The nitty, the gritty, the down and dirty. It will have MANY pairings (yassssss), but Tony will always be the focus. 
> 
> Meanwhile, please check out Darcy Does, my multi-pairing on-going fic of absolute fuckery.

Tony had forgotten, in last night's Redneck Days Of Our Lives, they still had the weekend left in Wisconsin.  Personally, he feels that their time could be better-spent bar hopping in Vegas, but Darcy still has scores to settle.  She pours herself into a very nice pair of skinny jeans while he watches, hopping up and down to get them up over her ass. It makes all of her bounce in the best way and he’s half tempted to throw her on the bed and peel her right back out of them. 

 

“You don’t have to come,” she assures him, wiggling her way into a Genuine Hulk Merch TM t-shirt.  It looks at most, to be a child's size medium.

 

“I didn’t pack that.” Not that he’s complaining. It’s not a bad look for Darcy, no matter that the shirt seems to be wearing her, and not the other way around. The cartoon version of Bruce’s alter ego smiles comically at him in bright colors, the screen print image stretched and warped over her tits. 

 

She does a little shimmy - making her tits bounce, and winks at him. “Want me to take it off?” 

 

“Yes, absolutely. Take it all off.” 

 

“Too bad,” she sings. “I have shit to do. You can hang out here and get mini-bar drunk.” 

 

“The entire contents of the mini bar could not get me drunk.” Tony side-eyes the little fridge anyway. Buzzed, maybe, but he’d have better luck eating the eleven Kit-Kats and riding the sugar-high.  “I’ll stay back if you want me to though.” 

 

She pauses, one foot deep in a knee-high boot. “Tony - I basically yelled at the top of the lungs that I was riding Tony Starks Dick into the sunset on the reg. I’m not---I’m not trying to hide you.” Anymore, goes unsaid, but Tony’s gonna let it go. “I’m trying to  _ spare  _ you.” 

 

It’s an absurd notion. Darcy has protected him from board-meetings, nuke-buttons and writhing balls off acidic squid.  Who is Tony, to not offer her the same measure of support in the face of Family Bullshit? “Noted. What’s on the agenda for today?” 

 

***

 

They stop for coffee.  Tony wonders later, if they’re just predictable, or if it was just circumstance. There were probably contingencies in place. There were probably Plan A through A34657-P. 

 

There is no Starbucks. Their options are gas station brew, McDonald's brew (which is also gas station brew because the McDonalds is hanging off the side of the station like a broken wing), or the struggling little indy shop smack dab in the center of town.  Darcy picks the third, always one to support small business and also wise enough to not ask Tony to go into a gas station McDonald's of his own free will. Darling, really. 

 

It’s like every independently owned coffee shop she’s dragged him too, with tiny tables, oddly low-back chairs and free wifi.  Darcy orders a mochafrappelattecinobullshit, and Tony gets an iced coffee with a double shot of espresso, not because he’s against mochafrappelattecinobullshit, but rather he’s too impatient to wait for it to cool down.  Darcy is also too impatient, and will inevitably burn her mouth; she’ll make big sad eyes at him until he relinquished his colder beverage. After her  _ sip  _ kills a quarter of his coffee, he’ll kiss her mouth better. It’s a system they’ve perfected.  He wonders if they knew this, wonders how deep their intel goes, how far back. He wonders a lot of things, but retrospect doesn’t have all the answers and the people who do are dead. 

 

There’s a line because there’s always a line no matter where you are. Darcy snuggles her way up under his arm and Tony sighs like it’s a trial, but they both know he loves it. She slides her hands into his back pocket and squeezes his ass as they wait for their order. “After this, we can head up to the shop. I’d like to make sure Red has everything he needs before I transfer it into his name.  We might sell the house and use the money to upgrade--” 

 

“You don’t need to sell the house,” Tony argues, missing the snobby rich bitch from last night. Not having to bitch about money - the abundance of money he has and is willing to share - was nice.  “Just fix what needs fixing, Darce’. Don’t worry about it.” 

 

Darcy sighs. “Red wouldn’t like that. And neither would Lou. I need to do right by them. I’m not attached to the house, Tony. We can sell it.” 

 

“If you think you need too.” If Darcy put her childhood home up for sale, Tony’s going to fucking buy it. “Did you want---” 

 

“Stevens. Rogers. Lewis!” The Barista calls, and Tony follows Darcy to the counter to collect their drinks. She shoulders her way past a burly dude sipping on something flat and black in a paper cup and grabs both their drinks. 

 

They sit outside on the empty patio. Darcy always picks the patio if it’s an option, he realizes, remembering their Long Island Iced Tea lunches in upper Manhattan. The Patio, or facing the window, and eye-line of the door.  Tony wonders if she realizes she does it, if it’s subconscious now, like so much of her Agent training. She sips her coffee, burns her mouth, and frowns. “What did you get?” 

 

Tony doesn’t have time to slap her hand away before she’s dipping her fingertip over the edge of his drink. He’s already slammed about half of it, and so she has to reach farther.“You know I hate it when you do that.” Because she  _ always  _ fucking does it. “Keep your hands out of my beverage. It’s gross.” 

 

“You can put your tongue in my ass, but this is gross to you? She grins, pulling her hand back to lick the little drip of coffee from her fingertip. “I know you---.” Tony watches, right along with her, as the blushy pink polish of her right index nail turns a dark, and ominous shade of blue. “Baby,” she says, very, very quietly and Tony’s sure she’s never called him that before, sure it doesn’t mean anything good. Before he can ask, she cuts him off. “Whatever happens - I’ll get you back, okay?” 

 

“What?” Tony blinks at her, and something in the world shifts - or maybe it’s him, slumping a little down his seat against his will. “Darcy---what----”

 

“Tony. Shh. Listen to me. Okay, listen. There was something in your coffee---the coating on my polish detects poisons. Blue means---it’s unknown. I don’t know.” She’s holding herself so still, coffee dripping from her fingertip in a thin opaque line to collect in the palm of her hand. “Whatever happens --- it’ll be okay.” 

 

Tony feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as something cold and slimy makes itself known in his gut. He feels dizzy and he thinks only half is dread. “Darcy...” 

 

“Shhhh,” she says, catching his hand. “Listen to me. It’s going to be okay. I’m gonna get you back. Okay?”

 

“The coffee was drugged,” Tony slurs, slumping forward just a little, not particularly quick to the chase. He meant to ask if her coffee was drugged. Darcy does her best to catch his shoulder, but he’s gone heavy, and limp. “Darce’.” 

 

“I love you.” That ---  _ That _ , Tony knows she’s never said. He sort of feels like crying. “Shhh. I love you so much. I need you to know that. It’s going to be okay. I’m gonna get you back, okay?” 

 

“I---I was gonna say it first,” Tony tells her and it’s not a priority but his head hurts and he feels like he might puke. “I didn’t want to scare you away.” 

 

“If you think I didn’t know you loved me, you’re a really shitty genius.” She smiles at him and it’s a pretty smile that hurts his heart and he wonders what they gave him, and he wonders why she knows. 

 

“You haven’t drank your coffee. You should...You should run.” 

 

“There are three guns aimed at me right now,” Darcy pushes him back just hard enough that he slumps into his seat. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. I’m sorry---I thought they’d go after Lou. I didn’t think---SHIELD’s gone rogue, Tony. But I promise you---.” 

 

“You don’t make promises, you said so.” It’s getting harder to speak, black shadows crystallizing at the edge of his vision.  SHIELD. It’s not the first time they’ve knocked him out, only for him to wake up elsewhere. Except for this time----this time Darcy loves him, and she looks scared. 

 

“Yes,” Darcy agrees. “And I am telling you right now, Anthony Edward Stark--- I promise you, I’ll get you back. It’ll be alright.” 

 

“They usually let me go.” Not before extracting promises that come with a blood price, but they do. 

 

Darcy laughs, a little sad thing Tony wants to cntrl Z right out of history. “Yeah but this time...it isn’t about you.” She leans farther over their little table, and cups his face, holding the weight of him in her palms. “I promise okay? I’ll find you.” 

  
  


He feels his eyelids close, more than he sees the lights go out. “I’m holding you to that, sugar,” he manages, sucking in a breath as his body betrays him. He can’t move, but he’s still awake. He can’t see, but he can hear, he can’t talk, he can’t move, he can’t think----

 

“Agent Lewis,” someone says, from beside them. “The Director requests your presence.” 

 

“Agent Garrison,” Darcy replies kindly. “You throw us in one of your vans, I’ll blow your fucking head off.” 

 

The agent laughs and Tony can feel the sound of it scrape across his skin, velvet backwards, unsettling. “He’s going in a van.  _ You’re  _ getting something a little more secure.” Tony thinks he should be offended that Darcy’s capture requires higher level security but at the same time...he doesn’t think they’re wrong. 

 

“Leave him and I’ll come quietly. But if you take him...” Darcy promises quietly, and her voice is smooth, silk on bare skin. “I’m going to destroy every single one of you, do you understand?” 

 

“You’re welcome to try, Agent Lewis but even you aren’t capable of killing fifteen agents by yourself.  Do you intend to come quietly, or are we going to make a scene?” 

 

“Ryan,” Darcy tries, evening her voice to something slightly more sympathetic. “I don’t need to kill you to destroy you. Your moms a Cubs fan, huh? Got that front door painted orange in that Oak Park suburb, out in Illinois.  Likes to take little day trips to Chicago on the train. She goes every six weeks since her hair stylist moved to the city. No one can get that shade of red right, quite like Carla.” The Agent doesn’t reply, and Tony wonders what that means. “That’s right, Ryan. That’s right. The only leverage you have against me is sitting across this table, drooling into his pretentious cravat but I know everything. And I will rip the world out from under your feet if you touch him.” 

 

Tony makes a noise of protest at that. At least - he thinks he makes a noise. 

 

“Your Uncle----” 

 

“Wow, okay, you have shit intel. Lou? He's ex-military and Jewish. Not fond of the government. Would get a kick out of being murdered by an American organization infiltrated by the shitstain left by Nazi fuckbags, frankly. He’d find it very gratifying. Vindicating even. Also - he shits his own pants and thinks I’m his wife. Killing him would be a fucking mercy for the both of us at this point.”  She means it, Tony realizes. She  _ means  _ it. “I’m all for letting a man die with dignity.” 

 

“The Astrophys----” 

 

“Fair,” she concedes, and he can imagine her indifferent pose, a wave of her hand like fair points mean nothing at all. “Fair, but funnily enough, I’m not worried. See, you might be an idiot, but your boss isn’t. Hurt so much as a skin cell on Jane and you’ll have an Asgardian Army prepared to pull your lungs out your asshole. I highly doubt you’d target her for my benefit. So think, Agent Garrison. Really think about it. You have the single most important thing to me in all of creation.” Tony...would like to say something to that. There is much to be said. “I  _ dare  _ you to hurt him. I really do.” 

 

“Come quietly and we won’t have too,” the Agent assures her, looping a hand under Tony’s arm.  He’s unceremoniously hauled up from his chair, and the familiar clack-clack tells him that Darcy’s chosen to follow. 

 

“Ryan,” Darcy’s voice chimes, and wind pulls at Tony’s hair. “Have you met my husband?” 

 

What, Tony thinks.  _ What _ ?

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Big mouth, Darcy Lewis. Top of her class in verbal evasion and distraction. Top of her class in a lot of things, for all that she can’t run for shit, can’t climb for shit, can’t aim for shit....” He shakes his head. “Pretty, but not the prettiest. Smart, but not the smartest. Mean, but not the meanest. She flew under the radar too long, Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything you've probably wondered about Darcy Lewis possibly answered in this chapter and then some things you didn't wonder about but now you are HUZZZAH.

 

“Your little girlfriend has caused quite a bit of trouble.” 

 

Tony’s never seen the man that stands before him.  He’s not from SHEILD’s Circlejerk of Asshole Executives.  This one is different. Younger, but not young. A stout fellow, with obvious military experience who paces the space before like a caged lion. 

 

“She does that,” Tony agrees, dazedly. Whatever they’d given him - they’d given him more.  His stomach is empty, a roiling gape of stomach acid and nothing else. He has no concept of time passing, only that it does and doesn’t.  It could be days since they took him, it could be hours. He doesn’t know. They have him hooked to an IV drip, and he counts the seconds between unconsciousness by the  _ drip drips _ of viscous liquid as it makes itself home in his bloodstream.  Beside the IV is a car battery wired to the empty gaping hole in his chest where no arc reactor dwells. This again. “It’s her thing.” 

 

The old man crouches before Tony, casting himself in the shadow that Tony’s slack body creates in the chair. His face is scared and twisted. “What do you know about Darcy Lewis?” 

 

“Five foot one, a hundred and twenty-three pounds, allergic to eggplant which I find wildly amusing, high tolerance for whiskey, low tolerance for bullshit. She can take it in the ass better than I can though and I gotta say, my dick is  _ very  _ reasonable, so probably a decent pain tolerance. Did I miss anything?” Tony lifts his head as far as his body will allow which isn’t much. “Oh. She has some pretty impressive friends.” 

 

“Yes,” he agrees, a twisted grin pulling unevenly at his mouth. “Yes, she does. Except these friends don’t seem to know much about her.  Agent Lewis was brought in from the ground. Uppity little bitch in New Mexico with a big mouth---” 

 

“I know how she was recruited to SHIELD.” Tony doesn’t care for monologues unless they’re his own, thanks. “She’s told me.” 

 

“Yeah?” Without warning, the old man strikes, grabbing Tony hard by the face and forcing him to meet eyes. “What else did she tell you?” 

 

“You know, I’m not feeling particularly generous right now,” Tony spits, baring his teeth. “I don’t know what you need to know.  She didn’t tell me shit.” It used to gull him - the black hole vortex in her history no amount of snooping could ever fill. Now...Well, now Tony kind of fucking understands. There are secrets and then there are government agencies kidnapping your boyfriend. 

 

And by God, but what does it say that he’s the fucking Damsel in Distress in all this? Tony had spent a lot of time worrying that Darcy would be in danger by associating with him.  The flip side had never come up. 

 

“Yes,” the old man agrees again, letting Tony go with a hard jerk. “That sounds like her. Big mouth, Darcy Lewis. Top of her class in verbal evasion and distraction. Top of her class in a lot of things, for all that she can’t run for shit, can’t climb for shit, can’t aim for shit....” He shakes his head. “Pretty, but not the prettiest. Smart, but not the smartest. Mean, but not the meanest. She flew under the radar too long, Stark.  Do you know what we call her type?” 

 

“I’m sure that you’ll tell me.” 

 

“The Purgatories,” the Old man explains. “Neither the best nor the worst. The lukewarm faction of the world. I am not a proud man, Mr. Stark. At least not so proud as to deny my mistake and I made the mistake of thinking Darcy Lewis was neither here, nor there.” 

 

Tony can see how it would happen. Darcy sells herself short in all things, and people believe it. Tony knows better. “Quite the mistake.” 

 

“One I intend to rectify, I assure you.” He pulls himself to stand, old bones creaking and popping at the joints and Tony thinks he could take him in a fight if he wasn’t drugged to the fucking gills and strapped in a chair. “See - Agent Lewis isn’t a Purgatory. She’s a Blender. That’s a very special title we give to very few people. I can name only two on Staff. Do you know who they are? Natasha Romanov and Phillip Coulson.” 

 

Tony looks away.  Both Nat and Phil had cavorted around him without him suspecting a thing - for weeks. For months. Coulson had told Tony he was from SHIELD, had come at him in all honesty and Tony hadn’t sensed a threat.  Coulson was there - years ago when Iron Man had only just been born into fruition, at the edges of Tony’s life, that Mona-Lisa smile on his face as Tony passed him by, fast words and fast hands. He knows the truth of Agent Coulson now, knows the man is Not To Be Fucked With, knows that enigmatic aura hides the ability to leave a man drooling into the carpet. And Nat? Natasha? Natalie Rushmore.  Tony has seen Nat shift gears like a car, sliding smoothly into another personality like someone might pull on a different coat. Nat can be anybody, at any given time. He’s seen Darcy do the same. It’s frightening. 

 

“Anyone of our Agents can blend in a crowd,” the Old man continues. “But people like Darcy? Romanov? Coulson? They don’t  _ just  _ blend. They’re never noticed in the first place. They can be anybody. They can be your assistant. Your maid. Your taxi driver. The sanitation manager with the all access card no one would even question. People you dismiss as barely people.  How long did it take you to realize Agent Lewis had a brain inside that pretty little body?”

 

Longer than Tony will  _ ever  _ fucking verbalize. 

 

“It took us longer,” the Old man assures him. “See. It started out that she just knew too much.  That stunt with Thor. Those kinds of people? Unfortunate bystanders, wrong place wrong time types? They fill our cubicles. They push our papers. They file our taxes. They scuttle and scurry and collect their paychecks and stay where we put them and do what we tell them because they’re afraid of what they saw and they’re afraid of what we’ll do. And they should be afraid, Mr. Stark.  And so when we picked up some little college flunky, with no discernible skills outside of an average intellect and a big mouth - we put her in filing and we did not think of her again.” 

 

Tony knows this part of the story. “Until the Agent Physicals.” 

 

The Old man winks and Tony---will never wink at a person again. Winking is gross. Winking is what old men do to make other people feel uncomfortable. “Until her fourth Agent Physical Examination. You see, the very Average Darcy Lewis was throwing her exams on purpose. But, in a collection of mistakes we made in the wake of Agent Lewis - we didn’t catch it right away. Plenty of people fail Physical Exams. Some never pass, and they stay in filing.” 

 

Tony doesn’t smile, but only because his face fucking hurts. It sounds exactly like something Darcy would do. She doesn’t  _ like  _ running. Even when shit is chasing her, Darcy is not a fan of running. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, Darcy would choose to be a zombie because  _ “no one expects zombies to run and the food is usually fresh” _ . In the event that a  _ bear  _ was chasing her, Darcy would accept her fate of being eaten by a bear. It’s just facts. 

 

“It was Romanov who suggested that Agent Lewis might be capable of more than she was letting on. Oh, that isn’t to say she could run for shit or get her ass up the rope but there was...a certain sense of potential in her we had not previously noticed. So we put Phil on it. Phil had a way of...inspiring people to reach that potential.” 

 

Had, Tony thinks. Not has. Phil had a way.  It could mean one of two things. Coulson was dead, or Coulson had defected. Tony didn’t allow himself to dwell on either, panic bubbling under his skin. SHIELD was a known quantity. If this wasn’t SHIELD...

 

“I never cared enough to look into what Agent Coulson did to inspire Agent Lewis, pleased only that it worked. She passed her physical exam....eventually.  I daresay our insistence that she do so was very nearly our downfall. Might have been better to leave her in the file room. She might have made fewer friends.” 

 

“I don’t know about that. She’s a very charming girl,” Tony manages, through bloody teeth. The Old Man dangles the battery cables in his hand, unhooked, and Tony feels his body betray him. 

 

With a laugh, the battery cables are put back.  “Yes. Very charming. So charming in fact, my esteemed Agent Coulson chose to take her under his wing. He’d only ever done that twice before you see.  I’ll admit, it wasn’t until  _ then  _ that I took notice of Agent Lewis. But by the time I assessed her for a threat, Phil had ferreted her right out from under my feet and into your lap.” 

 

“Not directly,” Tony argues mildly. “That came later.” 

 

The Old man rolls his eyes, and says dryly, “given what I know about Agent Lewis and her general Modem Operandi, I highly doubt anything  _ came later _ . She fucked herself right up and out my chain of command Mr. Stark. And for some very, very strange reason - her little jaunt ended with you. Can you tell me why?”

 

“I’m really, really good in bed.” 

“Darcy has a higher accuracy rating in eidetic memory than you,”  the Old man cut to the chase. “But she doesn't have the intelligence or knowledge to do anything with it.  I think that’s where you came in.” 

 

“Well, you thought wrong,” Tony spat, a niggling of worry creeping darkly into his vision. “I knew she saw stuff - but she never would say what.” 

 

“Darcy Lewis didn’t just see stuff.” Thunder passing across his face and Tony knows he’s in trouble. “Lewis spent almost two years in our filing rooms, all by her lonesome, heavily monitored, transferring our collective data and archives onto thumb drives one gig at a time, Mr. Stark.  Too small a measure for us to even notice the transfer. She didn’t just see everything....she  _ saved  _ everything. And when she was finished...She took it to you.”

 

“I never saw anything!” Fear. Fear taste like blood, or blood taste like fear, Tony can’t tell. There’s an iPod nano on the left bedside drawer next to a vibrator he is very, very familiar with. Tony’s never touched it, but he knows it’s there, and he knew. He knew what it was. She told him, with a little shake in her voice and he knew she was scared but he hadn’t understood.  

 

“No,” the Old man agreed, reaching for the battery. “But you know who did.” 

 

“I don’t.” If Darcy was going to take it to anyone, she’d have taken it to him. He was top in his field, for a reason. But she hadn’t. 

 

She didn’t need too. 

 

_ Jarvis _ . 

 

Trembling, Tony watches the Old Man’s hand stroke the handles of the battery cables. “She never brought it to me,” he says carefully, honestly. “I’m the foremost mind on computer science in the known world. I can’t think of anyone else she’d take it too if she needed it cracked. But as far as I could tell - she didn’t want anything to do with it, okay? She didn’t want anything to do with --- any of it. She wanted out. She didn’t want to be an Agent anymore.” 

 

He pulls the cables taught until they tug at Tony’s chest and laughs in Tony’s face, spittle flying. “What does husband mean to you?” 

 

Tony blanches, and it hurts --- God but it hurts. The chest pulling and the comment. “Nothing---She said she...Marriage wasn’t in the picture for us.” Possibly because she was already married, Tony realizes. 

 

“You really don’t know,” the Old man marveled. “She’s better than I thought.  She’s been with you for nearly two years and you don’t even know.” 

 

“That she’s already married?” 

 

“Husband,” the Old man repeats. “H-U-S-B-A-N-D.  Homelands United Security Base And National Defense.” 

  
  


Although he has no idea what it means, Tony knows without a doubt he’d probably prefer she was married. “Okay.” 

 

“Darcy never stopped being an Agent, Mr. Stark.” The Old man’s smile is pitying. “She just stopped being an Agent of SHIELD.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very little of this story was planned from the beginning, but this absolutely was. HA.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the VERY LAST CHAPTER of Old Dogs! 
> 
> Up next - New Tricks aka Darcy's POV. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry, it took so long to update! I got in a car accident and smashed my face in. Faces are bouncy, so I had that going for me. Haha. I'm fine. But did you know you can get a blood blister on the roof of our mouth? I did not. You can.

Tony counts the time by the drip of the faucet. Sixty little plinks and a minute has passed. Except that there is no faucet in this room, only him.  There is no water, only blood. He counts the minutes by his own blood puddling on the floor and the hours by how light-headed he’s grown. He is fairly certain he hasn’t broken to their torture yet. It’s hard to break when you don’t have what they want after all.  It would seem that these Hydra-Cum-Shield hacks had put more faith in him than Darcy ever had. 

 

It’s a disheartening fucking thought, really. 

 

He’s been hanging by his ankles from the ceiling long enough to have regained consciousness twice, and so he’d like to think he’s had enough time to consider his time with Darcy Lewis.  She loves him. This is the truth. She told him even as the roofies kicked in, with gravity he’d never seen in her. She needed him to know and so Tony knows. Darcy loves him and it might be the only true thing he knows about her. 

 

Blood from his mouth drips into his nose and Tony sputters on a reverse post-nasal drip.  Waterboarding, he thinks --- now  _ there  _ was a torture. Could they go back to that? He didn’t mind the waterboarding so much, the imminent sense of death was almost a balm compared to this-this discombobulating lack of any sense at all.  His ankles are very securely strapped to an overhead bar, and his wrists are neatly shackled to the fucking car battery, a V-shaped wire twisted neatly in the center, so that if Tony so much as sways--- 

 

It’ll disconnect from his chest, reroute to the handcuffs and zap him.  He knows because he’s tried. 

 

While not exactly tech-savvy, Tony will give them points for effectiveness. 

 

Darcy’s coming, he tells himself and counts the drops of blood in the fall to the puddle on the floor. 

 

***

 

When two burly guards finally let him down, Tony vomits stomach bile all over himself, too weak and disoriented to do much else. They prop him in a chair, a limp rag doll of a man, securing his hands and ankles with wide, metal cuffs.  He’s not cognizant enough for them to be on guard, and so he lays there and simply listens. 

 

The shorter of the two is laying a new IV into the pic-line buried deep in the underside of his left bicep. “I’m just saying, Jay----don’t you think it’s weird they’re willing to do this to---I mean---He’s Iron Man. He’s Tony Stark.” 

 

It’s not often that Tony here his given name said with more reverence than his alter ego, and so he forces himself to pay attention, to hold tight his stream of consciousness. 

 

“Yeah,” the other guard agrees, shifting on his feet in front of the door. “But look how much that means right now?” 

 

Tony watches behind the sweep of his lashes as the first guard’s hands hesitate over the IV, the trip button that dispenses whatever they’re keeping him pumped up on.  Nervous fingertips flitter over the deep red trigger---- “I just think...You know. If they’re willing to do this to Tony Stark---All because of Agent Lewis?” 

 

“She’s a problem,” the door-guard grunts. “What are you trying to say, Ian?” 

 

“Maybe we’re fighting on the wrong side, is all.” Agent Ian shrugs---and Tony doesn’t feel the burning cold rush of the sedatives slipping through his veins. Instead---he feels a key slipped into his palm. “Does this look like winning?” 

 

The door Guard moves as Agent Ian steps away from Tony. “That kind of talk is like to get you killed.” 

 

“This kind of life is like to get me killed,” Ian mutters, and Tony can feel the weight of his gaze on him. He’s got no idea if the kid is just a turncoat - or if he’s Darcy’s people. “I didn’t choose this, and neither did you. We’re just dumb fucking pawns---just like Agent Lewis was.  But she didn’t go willingly.” 

 

“Well, that’s her. She had nothing to lose,” Door Agent shrugs. “I got kids, Ian.  I got a wife. You got your little sister. We all know her story. Bitch like that---doesn’t love anything, you can’t use anything against her. She doesn’t fucking care. Even her Uncle---did you hear what she said? She told the director to fucking off him. Her own uncle!” 

 

Agent Ian clears his throat, and Tony can feel the tension rising. “Yeah---and she said the only thing she gave a single shit about we got trussed up, bled dry and drugged six ways to Sunday.  You think that’s smart, Jay? If we got him---she really has got nothing to lose.” 

 

Agent Jay doesn’t answer for a long time, but when he does---Tony feels for him. “Agent Lewis might be the better choice in all this --- but she doesn’t have lackeys watching the daycare my wife works at.  So---Yeah. She’s gonna come. And she’s gonna fucking tear the roof off this building, and we’re all probably going to fucking die in the process because she doesn’t give a shit about us---to save him. But I’m gonna be where I’m supposed to be, doing what I'm supposed to do because you know what happens when you don’t.  That shit with the van---when she escaped? They're dead! The Director wants us to think it was her---but I don't think so. I suggest you remember that, Agent.” 

 

“Darcy would get you out,” Agent Ian says, with a new wave of quiet confidence. “Come on, Jay.  Don’t you remember what she was like when she was here? She could get us out.” 

 

“She’s just one girl,” Agent Jay mutters. “And she was a shit Agent.” 

 

Ian taps the security panel next to the door. “If that’s true,” he says, with a despairing laugh. “Then why are we holding  _ Tony Stark  _ hostage?” 

 

“Because----I don’t know----” Before Agent Ian can open the door, Agent Jay slams it closed again. “Look---Word is---she kidnapped a kid, okay? I know you think she’s gonna swoop in here and you’re gonna ride her coat tails out---but Darcy Lewis is no better than the rest of these lunatics.  She kidnapped a kid, Ian. We kidnapped Tony Stark and she kidnapped a fucking  _ baby _ .” 

 

Tony wishes---Tony wishes a lot of things. He wishes his girlfriend wasn’t the kind of person who had these kinds of enemies. He wishes his girlfriend wasn’t the kind of person who kidnaps babies. He wishes he wasn’t the kind of person who took any hope from that.  Darcy means business. Darcy always means business. Tony’s fairly certain she wouldn’t actually hurt a baby though. 

 

“Yeah,” Ian reels. “You really wanna go against that kind of person?” 

 

***

 

It’s dark when the door opens again - not even the flickering yellow light bulb outside in the hall. Two guards- new faces - bustle into the room. “Get the battery,” the shorter of the two barks, as he kicks the breaks free on Tony’s chair. The IV bag dispensing a constant drip of sedative sways and pulls, tugging the line taught where it’s dug into his arm.“C’mon! The elevators run on their own backup generator. We can get to the helipad from there.” 

 

They bag his head, and Tony feels the crushing weight of the caves in the back of his mind, as he’s jostled from his holding cell of a room, into the lightless hallway. Backup generators...Tony startles, whole body jerking in the chair. There is no ambient noise, no drip trip beep, and bustle of biosensors and lock pads, no ever-present electrical buzz in the air. The powers out.  The low whine and drag of elevator doors struggling to open are all he can hear over the sound of heaving breath and heavy boots. The light overhead flickers, barely sustained by the generator.  They drop into the elevator and it lurches, but holds. Up, they’ll go. They’re moving him. The powers out. 

 

Darcy’s here. 

 

The key is still tucked into his palm - but he can’t reach the locks, and it does him no good. The battery is sat at his feet, soothing and restricting all at once.  They flank him, the agents, and they’re on  _ edge _ , even as the elevator rises, and rises, and rises-----and stops. 

 

“This isn’t our floor,” Agent Left hisses, and Tony feels the air shift as he reaches for his gun. “Cal---this isn’t our floor. She’s out there. She’s here, isn't she? Oh fucking shit, they're here---” 

 

“Man up,” the other agent snaps, and the cock of a gun is loud. “You know the orders. Agent Lewis is officially Enemy Number One and anyone helping her is considered fair target. Shoot to kill, or get the fuck out of my way. I’m not going down like Rich and Vick did - they lost her in bumfuck Wisconsin. And you know where they are now? In body bags, Donnie. I’m not going out because some dumb bitch couldn’t keep her fucking trap shut.” 

 

The elevator doors creak open, pulling energy where energy isn’t.  Tony braces himself, for gunfire, for violence----but nothing happens. 

 

“Maybe it malfunctioned,” Agent Right mutters, voice shaking with hope and terror alike. “Maybe----” 

 

Tony is painfully aware of the sound a 9mm bullet makes when entering a skull.  He wishes he wasn't, but that isn't his life.  It is, without a doubt, a kill shot. Agent Left drops beside him, and Agent Donnie----screams like a little girl. 

 

“Weapons.” It’s Darcy---but nothing like he's ever heard from her before. “Shoot to kill, Agent Donnie. I’m only gonna ask you once more. Give me your fucking weapons.” A pause---and a thunk and slide of metal against metal as Donnie kicks his gun toward the doors. “Uncuff him.” 

 

“I don’t have the key,” Agent Donnie squeaks, and Tony doesn’t think he’s imagining the faint scent of piss in the air. “I don’t----I swear I don’t. I’m sentry---Agent Jay and Boothby---they had the key last----” 

 

“Here,” Tony croaks, forcing his hand to let the fucking key go. It plinks against the floor. “We owe some kid named Ian a fruit basket or something.” 

 

“Uncuff him,” Darcy snaps again. “ _ Now _ .” 

 

The air stings cold against his bare palms, as the metal cuffs are unlocked and folded back.  Tony flexes his hands, and ankles, but doesn’t try to stand. “They got me on a leash, sugar.” 

 

“Take that fucking bag off his head.” There’s a shake in Darcy’s voice that tells Tony she is not doing so hot, and for some painfully selfish reason---Tony takes heart in that.  He’s not so petty that he wants her hurt---but he does want her hurting, just a little. Equal in all things, after all, and Tony? Tony’s hurting. “Fucking now!”

 

The bag is pulled free---and some of Tony’s hair too, ouch. “Darcy, Darcy----” Agent Donnie his stammering. “You know---You know what they’re like---I couldn't stop them---Please---” 

 

“You’re weak,” Darcy cuts him off, cold and cruel and beautiful. “You’re weak and it’s the only reason you’re alive. You're a fucking bottom feeding lacky. You're happy to be here. You think it's some kind of fucking gift, you piece of shit.  Cuff yourself.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Did I fucking stutter, Donnie? I said fucking cuff yourself.” He watches her point to the cuffs hanging loose on his chair. “Uncuff the other side and cuff your hands together you fucking idiot. I swear to God, if you don’t----”

 

“Darcy,” Tony hushes over her, carefully calm. “Baby. I’m okay. It's okay.” 

 

“You’re not.” Darcy looks at him for the first time, with wide eyes and bitten lips. “You’re not okay, you’re strapped to a fucking battery, Tony----I know what they do to people. I know what they would do to you----” 

  
  


Tony hushes her again, little sh sh sh’s, even though he still can’t stand up, can’t go to her. He leans forward, in so much that he can. “You’re here now. I’m fine.” 

 

She nods, seemingly taking his word for it, before looking back to Donnie. “Cuff yourself.” Donnie does, and Darcy’s shoulders lose a tiny, itsy, bitsy, scant edge of tension. “Can you stand?” She asks Tony, gun still trained on Donnie. 

 

“Cables are too short.” He tips his head toward the battery. It’s a fucking generic brand and it rankles him. What kind of hick operation were they running? 

 

“Front left pocket of the belt,” Darcy tips her head town, pointing with her chin to the utility belt hanging off her hips over the familiar black catsuit. “Can you?” 

 

Tony can, and he finds an arc reactor inside. It’s older, from his earlier suits.  It's been years, but Tony remembers it. “The Malibu house?”

 

“Labs went on lockdown twenty-four hours after your disappearance. Not even Jarvis could get in.” She looks at Donny, who is now actively crying the corner. “Face the corner and shut the fuck up.” Donnie does.

 

“You have---less than a minute to get it in,” Tony warns her. He’s been strapped to the battery too long. “When you unhook the cables, the connections in the hub are going to drop. You need to reach in and pull them back out, or the reactor won’t lock in properly.” 

 

“You’ll be okay?” Darcy lowers her gun, but she doesn’t lock the safety. "Jarvis said this would work. He said it was enough." 

 

Tony’s honestly not sure. The reactor will sustain him, but he couldn’t fly a suit with it, even if he had a suit to fly. Any kind of EMP blast will fry him. It’ll do if nothing else. If Darcy can get it in. “You got this.” 

 

“Take the gun.” Darcy slides it into his palm. “We’re losing time. Vid is scrambled and we shut down all the stairwells, but they’ll figure a way through. Watch my back. Shoot anything that moves.” 

 

Darcy handles reaching into his open chest with more deftness than Pepper, and the reactor snaps into place with a tangible weight.  Tony can feel the sweat cold at his temples at the battery cables fall to the floor, and the arc buzzes to life in his chest. He breathes, deep and heavy. “There. See? All better.” 

 

Darcy kisses him. Brief and dry. Tony is so goddamn angry at her - but God is it good to feel her. He already knows he's going to forgive her. Forgive this. It comes with the life. And if he knows nothing else, he knows the heart of her, because it's the heart of him, and ... and nothing, he thinks. Nothing, without good intentions. They're shit people, but they're not _bad_.  Darcy loves him. So he's pissed, but he can't just throw away the supernova starlight bursting in his chest when she looks at him, those blue eyes wide and worries and willing to blow heads in for him. He can't give up on that. 

 

She's looking at him, body squared and ready, every inch the Agent he never took her to be. She is _on_ , in a way that reminds him deeply of Natasha and Clint all rolled into one. “Can you walk?” 

 

She's going to kick some absolute ass, and all she's asking of Tony is that he manages to walk. He needs to, for pride sake, if nothing else. “I’m gonna have to, aren’t I?” 

 

“We’ll find a way if you can’t.”

 

He can walk. He didn’t get a lot of exercises while staying in Casa Wherever He Is, but they also didn’t fuck him up too badly.  Inversion therapy, waterboarding, his legs are fine. A little weak, a little shaky, but he manages to get himself upright and carry his own weight. 

 

“Donnie,” Darcy snaps, taking the gun bag.  Donnie jerks, knocking his head into the wall, even as Darcy grabs him by the back of the shirt and slams him into the chair. She cuffs him in place---he fucking _lets_ her. “They’re not going to kill you.” 

 

“They’re not?” Donnie sobs, whole body shaking as he looks up at Darcy like she’s saving his life and not sealing his fate. 

 

“No, because you stole this from me.” She tucks---a USB drive, Tony thinks---into his palm. “Coordinates for the Director's wife, and baby. They’ll let your life.” 

 

Donnie’s fingers clench hard over the plastic casing. “I don’t deserve it.” 

 

“No, you don’t,” Darcy agrees, almost cheerfully, as she slips the bag over Donnie's head. She leans down, low enough that she could kiss his cheek through the rough fabric. Instead, she speaks. “But now you owe me a favor, don’t you? And Donnie---I’m gonna cash in on it. Not today, maybe not soon, but I'm going to, and you're going to do as I ask, or I'm going to find you and put a bullet in your head, do you understand?” 

 

"Yes," Donnie trembles, and yea---pee puddles under the chair, a growing lake of pale yellow. 

 

"Very good." When she rises, she hands Tony Donnie’s gun. “You any kind of shot?” 

 

“Better than you, from what I’ve heard,” he grouses. Tony is a decent shot. He's just used to giant balls of boom, rather than tiny bullets. It’s maybe, sorta, kinda made him a little lax in the precision department. “Who's on first, sugar?” 

 

“What’s on second,” she tells him, digging out a glow stick from her utility belt. She cracks it with her teeth and hurls it as far as she can down the empty black corridor. It burns, a bright and radiant blue, exposing absolutely nothing. “Full team, Daddy. We Assembled.” 

 

He’s only a few steps behind her, but it’s enough.  Tony takes her in - in all her glory. Her hair is loose, falling down her back in a tangle of raging waves.  Her catsuit is as he remembers, a viscous inky black painted to her body.  Her boots are tied tight, soles slapping silently against the ceramic floor.  The utility belt at her waist is sparse, but Tony knows to be cautious. She looks like a comic book villain, all dangerous curves, and dark eyes. Tony fucking loves her so much it hurts. 

 

“You came to get me,” Tony chokes on the words, feels gutted for all that he’s held on, waiting for her. He feels weak, and empty and grossly close to tears as he trails behind her, gun heavy in his hand. “I am so fucking mad at you.” 

 

“I know.” Of course Darcy knows. Darcy knows Tony, they know each other, and she knows what she did, and how bad it fucking hurts. “I know---I know. I’m sorry.” 

 

“You lied to me. All this fucking time you were---playing me.” 

 

“Never.”  She risks a glance his way, and slows her steps enough for him to shuffle up beside her. “Never. I just---Tony, I tried to tell you. A thousand times. But I got so far in. I never lied. I wasn’t---I wasn’t supposed to love you. I wasn’t supposed to even date you.  Phil wanted me to----to recruit you! And I couldn’t!” 

 

“Why!” 

 

“Because you deserve more than being some----some  _ asset _ ,” she spits the word, and shakes her head. “We're all fucking lackeys here.  That's all I am, and it's all I'll ever be. An asset. A tool. You are more than this. You’re more than what you are---you’re what you do. And you do good and I couldn’t...We’re not good. H.U.S.B.A.N.D.  We’re not good. Not yet. We’re trying, but it’s hard, you know? It’s hard to fight seedy, immoral, underhanded organizations without becoming one yourself. That’s how SHIELD fell, Tony. I couldn't drag you into this.” 

 

"You should have," Tony grabs her now, grabs hold even though there's no time because he needs to feel her. Needs to know she's real. "I could have helped you." 

 

"You weren't the mission," Darcy bites her lip. "I thought I could keep it separate." 

 

Tony laughs, and it hurts because he knows that feeling. He knows it. "Then you really should have told me, because I could have told you that was stupid." 

 

 

“I’ll tell you everything,” Darcy promises. “Once we get you out of here. I’ll tell you everything, okay? Beginning to end." She pauses and looks back down the hall, where the elevator doors have closed and the darkness has swallowed everything else. "In the interest of honesty, I should probably tell you I started a fire on the floor under us to push an EVAC. We need to move." 

 

"The others?" 

 

"Didn't make it as far as me," Darcy admits, pulling Tony into the corridor. He can feel the heat now, and it's not promising. "I didn't come alone though. I thought about it---I could have been here so much faster, but I couldn't risk you.  Teams a few floors up, I'd guess.  I'm not really great at hand-to-hand combat anyway." 

"So you're a shit shot and you can't fight?" Tony tucks his hand into her open one. "Remind me why I'm following you?" 

 

"Because my ass looks amazing in this suit and if we didn't make bad choices, we wouldn't make any choices at all?" She tangles their fingers as she shoulders her way through the stairwell door. 

 

Tony laughs, even as smoke stings his eyes. "Well, there is that."  

 

 

 

"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you all on the flip side! Make sure you subscribe to the series to get an update on the next part - Darcy's POV. Also, I will be conjoining all of this series into a single chaptered story for easier reading. With some help from some new betas! 
> 
> New Tricks will be posted as a single chaptered story, but the chapters SHOULD, in theory, follow along Old Dogs separate stories. THat's the plan anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS ISN'T THE END-END. I am going to finish this bit before starting New Tricks. 
> 
> Anyone want to beta? Email me at lifelesslyndsey@gmail.com


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